


You Gotta Have Faith

by Enochian Things (Salr323)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Season/Series 05, doubts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Enochian%20Things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s up?”  Dean asks the question around a mouthful of food, one of those confusing, frustrating questions Castiel is confronted with here on Earth.  Many things are ‘up’: the sky, the heavens. Airplanes.  </p><p>He’s hesitated too long and Dean waves his fork at him.  “What’s wrong?” he says, like he’s talking to a child.  “You were miles away.”</p><p>“I was right here,” he points out.</p><p>Dean taps his own head.  “I meant up here.  Where’s your mind at?”</p><p>Outside the ‘diner’ where they’re sitting while Dean eats, it’s raining.  If he wanted to, Castiel could count the raindrops as they fall, he could reach out and know in which star each component element of each raindrop had come into being.  He thinks it’s difficult to explain where his mind is, because it’s everywhere at once.  He hedges and says, “I was thinking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Gotta Have Faith

**Author's Note:**

> A little introspective piece from Cas's POV, to test my wings in the 'Supernatural' fandom. My first here, be gentle. ;)

Inhabiting a vessel, Castiel soon realizes, is somehow both a diminishing and expanding experience. The physical perspective takes some getting used to, the smallness of it, the rigidity of this mortal world his Father thought fit to create.

If he’d been allowed to wonder at the time, he might have wondered why God would choose to explode creation into existence and then cram it into this little three-dimensional box instead of permitting it to range in the celestial infinity of the heavens. But now he wonders (because he can, and he does) whether that was the point after all: the physical realm – Earth, above all – is a place of base instinct and dirty, dangerous free will. It has to be contained or all would be chaos.

Being here on Earth, inside this vessel, he’s not surprised that his brothers who know the world much better than him eschew humanity so completely. After all, without it – without its dirty, dangerous free will – there would be peace eternal. There would be no demons, no evil, and no war; without humanity, Lucifer would never have rebelled. 

Without humanity – or, rather, without one human in particular – _Castiel_ would never have rebelled. 

He ponders what it means that one man’s rejection of God’s plan could inspire his own rebellion. And he wonders what his rebellion might mean – if it means anything at all, beyond his own damnation. Is it the same as Lucifer’s, or something different? Castiel thinks he’s doing the right thing, but how can he know for sure? Perhaps Lucifer believes the same. He supposes there can be no certainty in this world of free will, and he feels a flare of doubt about his choice. The feeling manifests as a physical shiver and he glances down at his body, surprised by the sensation. 

“What’s up?” Dean asks the question around a mouthful of food, one of those confusing, frustrating questions Castiel is confronted with here on Earth. Many things are ‘up’: the sky, the heavens. Airplanes. 

He’s hesitated too long and Dean waves his fork at him. “What’s wrong?” he says, like he’s talking to a child. “You were miles away.”

“I was right here,” he points out.

Dean taps his own head. “I meant up here. Where’s your mind at?”

Outside the ‘diner’ where they’re sitting while Dean eats, it’s raining. If he wanted to, Castiel could count the raindrops as they fall, he could reach out and know in which star each component element of each raindrop had come into being. He thinks it’s difficult to explain where his mind is, because it’s everywhere at once. He hedges and says, “I was thinking.”

“About?”

“The nature of free will. Among other things.”

Dean’s eyebrows rise. This, Castiel has learned, indicates surprise, although the glitter in Dean’s eyes and the twitch of his mouth also suggest he’s said something unintentionally amusing. Again. He represses a sigh; he already knows better than to speak the unadulterated truth. 

“Okay,” Dean says. “What other things?’”

He hesitates, because he’s about to tell the truth again. It may be a bad idea, but he doesn't know what else to say. Besides, it involves Dean – and the rest of humanity – so he deserves to hear the truth. “What if I was wrong?” he says.

This time the raised eyebrows aren't accompanied by a smile. Dean sits back in his chair, drops the fork onto his plate with a clatter. “About what?”

“You,” Castiel says. Then, seeing Dean’s frown, adds, “My decision to rebel. What if I was wrong, what if it just makes things worse?”

Dean shrugs, as if such monumental doubts were neither here nor there. “Hard to see how things could get ‘worse’?”

“Not really,” Castiel counters. “If Lucifer is freed from Hell, the whole planet will burn. That’s worse.”

“He won’t be freed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

Castiel frowns, genuinely perplexed. He leans closer, lowers his voice. “Has God spoken to you?” He’s not sure if the emotion he’s feeling is envy or hope.

But Dean laughs, almost choking. “God? Hell, no. He lost my number a long time ago.”

“Then how can you know?”

With a shrug, Dean picks up his bottle of beer and takes a swallow. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Gut feeling.”

Castiel waits to find out what he means, but when Dean’s not more forthcoming he’s forced to ask, “And what does your gut feel?”

Dean gives him a look he can’t interpret. “It feels like I’m not going to let Lucifer within a mile of Sammy – and that you’re gonna help me stop him. It feels like we don’t have any other option, so we have to win.”

He finds he has to look away from the expression in Dean’s eyes – there’s too much desperate hope there, too much banked fear. And Castiel knows he can’t help him.

There’s a woman in the ‘diner’ who serves food and Castiel watches her instead; she has a young child at home, and wishes she could have finished college before her daughter was born because she finds serving food demeaning. Sensing his gaze she looks over, offers a weary smile. Castiel turns away; he can’t help her either. This is the price of free will, of this questionable gift his Father bequeathed humanity – decisions have consequences that can’t be changed or predicted. Like the waitress, Lucifer has already learned this lesson and now so must he. He feels obliged to point it out to Dean. “That’s just an assertion,” he says. 

Dean looks up from his meal. “What?”

“You said we’ll win because we have to, but that’s just an assertion. You don’t know. You can’t know. Only God can know, and He...” 

Well, He’s not telling. 

Dean says “Right” and then another smile comes onto his face, but this one looks more dangerous than amused. “You remember what you told me when you first showed up, Cas?” Before he can answer, Dean waves his hand as if to bat the question away. “Course you do. You told me I had no faith.” He shrugs. “Well, maybe now I do.”

“In God?” 

Dean looks at him, then down at his plate. It’s empty now. “No,” he says after a pause. “In you.”

This is unexpected, unwarranted. “Dean,” he says, “I don’t deserve—”

“I’m not gonna start praying to you or anything,” he assures him. “I just mean – you’re a freaking ‘Angel of the Lord.’ That’s got to tip the odds in our favor, right?”

Castiel licks his lips. It’s his vessels autonomic response to his decision not to say out loud what he’s thinking, which is that his presence is unlikely to tip the odds in anyone’s favor. He’s brought the wrath of Heaven down upon himself; at most he’s bought them some time, but it’s more likely he’s just created a larger target. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “Why would you have faith in me but not in God?”

“Well,” Dean says, “I know _you’re_ real.”

Castiel finds himself smiling. Until he met Dean Winchester, he’s not sure he ever smiled; it’s not the sort of thing multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent tend to do. Not that this is a moment for smiling, what with the Apocalypse in full swing and Heaven in turmoil, but he thinks he’s starting to understand why their Father loved humanity, his most flawed creation, above all others. It’s because they can smile at the worst of times. It’s because they can question the existence of God, but accept the existence of His warriors. It’s because they can find hope in hopeless situations, and have faith in outcast angels.

Dean tips his head and gives him an intent look, as if he could actually do the impossible and see into his soul. “What’re you smiling at?”

He swallows his smile, but then changes his mind and opts for the truth. “I’m— I’m beginning to understand the appeal of humanity.”

“The ‘appeal’ of humanity?” Dean weighs the idea and then shakes his head. “Cas, buddy, you don’t even know the half of it.”

“I know you.” And, really, that’s all that matters.

But Dean says “No, you don’t. And if you think you do, then you’re wrong. I’m— I’m not a good example of humanity, Cas.”

He thinks that’s a ludicrous suggestion. “Have you forgotten that I saw you first in Hell?” It’s a genuine question; he’s not sure how much Dean remembers of the moment he pulled him free from the Pit. 

But Dean starts back as if the table has burned him, his face draining of color. 

“I apologize,” Castiel says, realizing too late that he’s said something wrong. “That must be a painful memory.”

“Oh, you think?”

“I only meant that I know you better than anyone. I’ve seen your soul stripped bare – and that’s why I believe in you.” He allows a slight smile at the irony. “That’s why I rebelled.”

“That’s—” Dean seems surprised. “Really?”

“When the time comes,” Castiel says, “I believe you’ll do what must be done. I have faith in you, Dean.” 

Dean makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a huff of disbelief. “Well that makes one of us.”

The truth is, he’s somewhat taken aback by Dean’s lack of self-belief; it was Dean’s certainty that had persuaded him to make this choice in the first place. Could he have been deceived? Had something changed? Had he risked everything – the whole _world_ – on a mistake?

Dean frowns, looks away across the bar. “Look,” he says into the silence. “Maybe that’s okay. I mean, I believe in you and you believe in me, right? Maybe that’s enough.”

Castiel is silent; it doesn’t sound like much at all. 

Dean’s head turns and he fixes him with another intent look. It’s like Dean’s willing him to believe, or at least to pretend to. That’s something his time on Earth has taught him – humans practice self-deception and often prefer lies to the truth. It’s not in Castiel’s nature to lie, but for Dean he’s willing to try. “Yes,” he says experimentally, “maybe that’s enough.”

Whether he believes him or not, Dean smiles and waves his bottle toward him. “Then let’s drink to that.”

“I don’t require—”

“Metaphorically – or whatever.” Dean taps his bottle against his empty hand. “You, me, and Sam taking on Heaven and Hell – what could go wrong?”

He considers the question. “That would be quite the list.”

Dean laughs again, this time with more humor. “Cas …” he says with a shake of his head, smiling as he gets to his feet. “Come on. Time to go.” 

“Go where?”

“Wherever we want, I guess. Free will, remember?”

As he follows Dean out of the bar, he catches sight of the waitress once more. He thinks of her choice and its consequences, and wonders about his own. Big enough to shake the world, his choice; big enough to destroy it. Even so, he finds he has no regrets. 

Humanity is teaching him something important, something his brothers don’t understand. Without choice, without consequence, what is the meaning of existence? What is the meaning of blind service to Heaven, of unquestioning devotion to an absent God? Nothing. It has no meaning. A mindless worker bee does as much for its hive. 

No, the road he’s chosen may be dark, it will be dangerous and unpredictable, but it’s the uncertainty that makes it worth travelling. And if he reaches its end, he thinks the destination will be something worth fighting for – worth sacrificing everything to defend. 

And he thinks that, down here among the dirt and the chaos, he may even find God.

END

**Author's Note:**

> I've only recently started watching 'Supernatural' - yes, I know, LATE! :D I hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear from you - but I'm only up to season 5, so would be grateful for no spoilers. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [enochian-things](http://www.enochian-things.tumblr.com/) so come and say hi! :)


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